"No, sir," replied the sub.
"Thought as much," said Watterley. "Merely a matter of form. You may as well come up. I'll recall the two men."
Sub-Lieutenant Hythe was not sorry to hear the order to return. Had there been any possibility of success he would have prosecuted his investigations with alacrity, but Spithead with an east-going spring tide running is no place to indulge in submarine excursions. The danger of getting life-line and air-tube foul of some unseen obstruction was no slight one.
"THE NEXT INSTANT HE FELT HIMSELF BEING HURLED VIOLENTLY BACKWARDS."
Hythe adjusted the valve of his helmet prior to giving the recognized number of tugs on the life-line--the signal to be hauled up. The next instant he felt himself being hurled violently backwards by a sudden and irresistible swirl of water. Within ten feet of him a huge, ill-defined mass of what appeared to be bright metal tore past. He was just conscious of a vision of one of a pair of propellers thrashing the muddy water and the object was lost to view.
"What a narrow squeak!" he growled angrily. "By Jove, I shouldn't be surprised if Banks is done for. It's a submarine, that I'll swear, but not one of ours. Ours are painted a dull grey and that seems to be a huge moving mirror."
In spite of his strong nerves, a mild panic overtook the sub. He signalled frantically to be drawn up, and to his relief he found himself alongside the battleship.
Grasping a line that was thrown him, Hythe hauled himself along till he reached the iron ladder. Here he clung, too excited to attempt to climb, until a seaman descended and assisted him up the side.
"What's up, Mr. Hythe? You look as if you'd seen a ghost," exclaimed the Number One, as the front plate of the sub-lieutenant's helmet was removed.